


Fate/Black Eden

by Lobb



Series: Fate/Black (Shirou / Morgan) [2]
Category: Fate/stay night & Related Fandoms, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel)
Genre: F/M, Married Couple, Multi, Peggy-sue, Power-Trip, Route: Heaven's Feel, Threesome - F/F/M, holy grail war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-10
Updated: 2019-11-09
Packaged: 2020-08-14 00:48:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20183473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lobb/pseuds/Lobb
Summary: For fifteen hundred years, she’d indulged in loneliness with him.  Her fingers touching his heart, and finding it warm- pulsating.  Morgan le Faye was not alone anymore.  In fact, she’d never lived a more fulfilled life.  It was only fair of her to indulge her husband’s greed--After all, she’d help make him the monster he was now.  And what were a few human magi to the Pendragon family?  Fodder, at worst.  Entertainment, at best.  She’d call it an anniversary gift.





	1. Prologue: Light and Dark

Fate/Black Eden  
A Sequel to Fate/Black Dawn

Prologue  
Light and Dark

[Ocean of Memories]

2003

“There’s no guarantee it will be her, you know. In fact, it’s completely possible it can’t be her.” A man looked up from his seated position in the middle of a large tangle of scrawled red lines. Adorned in a simple set of black slacks, a dark red button-up shirt, alongside a black vest, one could easily have mistaken him for a man of formal tastes.

The wild extent of his coppery-red hair detracted somewhat from such an appearance. As glimmering golden eyes locked onto her face, his mask of idle stoicism melted slightly into an easy smile that made her heart flutter in her chest.

“You know that won’t stop me.” He remarked, the conclusion as foregone as the idea that day would come, or that the sky would be blue. She stood a healthy distance outside of the array, arms crossed even while one hand idly twirled a lengthy bang of silvered blonde hair.

They were both ageless creatures, infused with the very essence of the Fae. Though the weakening of the world’s Mana had steadily lowered them from the inhuman feats of their rebellion and the subsequent abandonment of Britain, Morgan Pendragon- for she could claim that name wholly now, as opposed to the title of le Faye- could only stare quietly at her husband.

The Black Dragon. The second arrival of Vortigern, though Shirou had never been endowed with the strength of Britain itself- only given it by proxy by Morgan’s machinations and the forces of Alaya keeping history correct.

It had never been a fight her sister would have won. It was her fate, as cruel as it was--

\-- and it was her husband’s fate to never get to know peace in Artoria’s arms again. Especially now that he’d chosen another.

Two millenia. Fifteen-hundred years, almost. It had been wonderful, to have someone to share in this loneliness with. The undying, unaging Witch as beautiful as the moment she’d given him Excalibur Morgan--

\-- the weapon that signified her heart. Her trust and love. All that she was, and could ever be. A blade that drank in darkness and served to bring the fall of Camelot- the Utopia that could never succeed.

The weapon he’d used to slay the woman he loved most. A dark, cruel mercy that reflected in his very being every time he looked upon the weapon, or even his own face in the mirror. Like now, when his magical energy- and even some of her’s- was feeding into the array on the ground and making the red lightning imprinting his skin glow with the force of his own power.

He stood. It was time, and she could only let her hands rest at her side once again. For a moment, she felt a desire to fist her hands in the soft material of her jacket.

It was a gentle winter evening in Japan, a city he’d known and she knew about both through her own connection with him, and from years of discussions and idle chatter.

Fuyuki, where only a little over two-hundred years ago, human magi had tried to make a hole into the very fabric of magic and knowledge. A place even she would call worthless to visit.

One could not wield that power, only despair at having it. The price that came with it too high.

It was only by her musing that she can amuse herself with the thought of what they would do. That they would break yet another foolish ideal--

\-- she loved her husband the most when he was kind. Especially to her. And, in this moment of her gift to him, she knew he would be the kindest of all. In his own cruel, tyrannical way that was beyond the scope of men.

“The origin of silver, and iron-” Her eyes flitted forward unto him again, brushing a lock of blonde hair back behind her ear as he began the incantation. Watching with a deep pleasure--

\-- and an unabiding fear for her husband’s feelings.

“The sword and archduke of contracts, the cornerstone-” His hand outstretched as the array began to fill with energy, flooding the room with an eerie red light as a result of his own tainted magical energy. Once upon a time, it had been blue- perhaps even green- but now, long after he had been subjected to the change into a creature beyond human, the only thing that ever came forth from him was blacks or reds.

“By the hand of the creator, my ancestor-  
The winds howl and the gates shut,  
From the crown pours forth the roads leading to the Kingdom-”

\-- it was working. The deep and unabiding release of energy only mitigated by the outstretched hand that she saw begin to scrawl and bleed as the marks were tore into his open flesh, but he noticed not.

“Shut, and fill-  
Shut and fill-  
Shut and fill-  
Shut and fill-  
Shut and fill-  
Repeat every five times.”

The dribbling blood caressing the lines of his hand, standing out in stark relief from his ashen skin. The allure of it reminding the Witch of all of the times she had seen him bleed for her, seen him fight for her.

A heady, passionate feeling that made it easy to forgive him this once.

\-- his hand clenched open like a claw, flexed into a talon that could tear the throat from a man.

“And shatter once filled.” The words were pronounced with a growing sense of the energy around them. Her gaze turning away from the display to admire the crackling red lightning that began to flood the warehouse they’d deigned to turn into a short-term Temple.

“I announce-  
“From the self that comes, beholden to me,  
Your sword is my dream, and if you abide this feeling, this reason-  
Then answer in the name of the Holy Grail-”

Her eyes, glowing in their own green state, turned once again upon the form of Shirou Pendragon. It was time.

“By my oath, I am the one which projects the Good of the world of the dead,  
And the one who abides the Evil of the world of the dead-”

The next words came out in a whisper, as if he was afraid of their very existence. And, were it not for her awareness of the delicacy of such a ritual, she would have gone to him.

\-- but she did not.

“You, seven heavens clad in three words of power-”

The light intensified--

“Arrive from the ring of deterrence, O Keeper of the Balance!”

The world around them flooded with light, so bright it would have blinded a human’s eyes, but as they were in the center of the maelstrom, Morgan only brought an arm up to bring closure to herself.

As fast as the light came, it faded away into the ensuing moonlight as she brought her hand around and let the shades covering the few windows billow open in turn.

Though her husband remained standing, it was clear he was winded. From what she’d understood, many used additional implements to provide power for the summoning, but Shirou had relied solely on stored power within Avalon Alternative, resting within his breast.

Which had left him drained it seemed, though her eyes quickly moved on from him when she’d confirmed his health, towards the new presence in the room.

Against her wishes, her fists knotted against the wool of her coat.

“I ask of you-”

Green eyes that were not her own opened. Blonde hair tied up high, a woman wreathed in blue and silver. A blade concealed in the very air itself clasped loosely in a gauntlet-clad hand, while her words trailed off--

Because golden eyes had met green.

“ - - - Shirou . . ?”

Uneasily, she watched his lips curl, even as his right hand came up- the sigils of command burned once again unto the back of his fist, a design reminiscent of a sword’s filigree.

“I am your Master---”

His lips relaxed, even while his face could not seem anymore overwhelmed. Her arms crossed.

“Saber.”


	2. Night Falls, PT1

Fate/Black Eden

Chapter One  
Night Falls

The mysticism of the moment drifted away on the wind when their stares were distracted by the clearing of a throat. Shirou’s eyes slowly turned unto Morgan, as did Saber’s--

\-- which of course, was soon turned into a further moment of awkward silence as the Servant had to take a moment and reconcile the complete impossibility before her. The fact she stepped forward and in front of Shirou between the two was reaction enough on it’s own.

“Shirou, you must get-” As fast as Saber had begun to raise her veiled blade, the redhead’s hand settled gently upon her shoulder.

“It’s a long story, Saber.” His voice felt foreign to him, in that moment. He’d long since gotten used to the strong, self-assured tones that had been drilled into him by being in the Witch’s presence.

Why did he feel like . . . himself, again? All those years ago, or rather, a year from now. Time was convoluted.

His eyes drifted from the- His, HIS- Servant’s wary face unto his wife’s, noting the Witch’s amused stare in the face of her sister’s candor. A hand came up, softly raking through her lengthened bangs once again, “From the fact you remembered him on sight, I take it you must be the proper Artoria that belonged to my Shirou, hm?”

Ah. That was bad. Shirou saw that travesty coming from miles away- and not just because his eyes were still hawk-like in power.

He did not wince when Saber’s eyes came unto him.

He didn’t.

+x+x+x+x

The warehouse had been amplified on it’s own, yet another of Morgan’s near automatic responses to them choosing a place to hide away or settle down for a time. Not that he particularly blamed her, or would argue against it. There were countless times her bounded fields, wards, and other magics had kept the three of them safe. And even if Mordred wasn’t with them then, it was a point of fact he’d come to accept in being around the Witch.

Morgan prepared for everything. Everything that could be prepared for, anyway. Once, an eternity ago, he’d compared her to Rin--

\-- but the truth was that Rin’s penchant for schemes did not remotely reach the level of a woman like Morgan. Certainly, when he’d been younger, Rin had been constantly impressing him purely because her intellect and beauty--

\-- but Morgan was his bride now. And, well, that meant he was required somewhat to lean in favor of her. Thankfully, it was easy to do so in this circumstance.

Well, ignoring the fact she was heavily leaning on him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders while Saber was sat across from them, her brow ticking in a way that most certainly said how she felt about seeing herself face to face with the Witch once again.

He’d learned throughout the years that not only was Morgan truly a jealous woman, she was also--

\-- a cuddler. Yes. The Witch of the Fae. He’d forgive someone for believing she was doing it just to spite her sister- and she probably was- but . . .

Morgan just truly was like that. Clingy, even. It was part of why Mordred would go off on her own every so often, to get away from her parents.

Shirou frankly didn’t blame her.

“How in the name of all that is holy did this happen.” He couldn't particularly blame Saber, either.

“It would take all night to explain. And while we have time--”

His words were interrupted.

“-- it wouldn’t really change anything, would it, dear sister?” Morgan tittered softly, “Well- besides maybe how mad you would be at your lovely Shirou.”

That was certainly part of why he didn’t want to go on at length about it all. He had the very distinct feeling that Saber would not approve of the absolute clusterfuck that had been his stint into the past.

Oh she’d understand, probably, but she’d be outraged at him for doing something so stupid. He was used to that kind of response, it was a given with almost all of the women in his life- ignoring Mordred.

Mordred was just too rambunctious and too much of a daddy’s girl to do anything other than pout at him when he’d go off and have a stint of heroism.

“What are you doing here, Morgan? Better yet, HOW are you here?” Well, at least she consistently asked the pertinent questions--

“Don’t be silly, sister dear. I’m here because my husband is here. And that answers both of your questions, doesn’t it?” Morgan mused, trailing her forefinger across the red-streaked jaw of the Black Dragon even while he let out a small sigh.

“Morgan, please stop antagonizing your sister. Especially while you’re in my lap.” His gaze turned from Saber down unto his wife’s mischievous gaze. The way her green eyes flicked up towards him and her lips, painted softly red, curled made him roll his eyes.

She was insufferable. His. But insufferable.

Golden eyes settled once again upon the Servant- upon Artoria. His Artoria. The one that made his heart ache and his spirit feel renewed- as if vigor itself could be restored to a body that no longer functioned like a human’s- that fed off the energy of both the world around him and others.

“We can talk about it later. For now, I should fill you in. You should be the first Servant summoned-” His gaze took note of her annoyance melting away in the face of someone who understood business was before pleasure. His lips lighted softly into a smile once again, “We’re almost a whole year early. If I’m right, Illya will summon Berserker in the next half of a year, and then we’ll be waiting for the remaining Servants.”

Morgan’s finger trilling along his jaw drew his attention back to her, the pleased look on the Witch’s face telling him all he needed to know. “Berserker will be the main issue, even if I think I have an idea for how to deal with him- if not, I will have to trust you to come up with a plot.”

His wife’s smile seemed pleased with him. Relying on her always did seem to make her tender towards him. It must have been empowering for the Witch, to have her very own Dragon to command whom was more than stronger than her- but relied on her for guidance and affection.

He would never admit to enjoying it.

His gaze turned back unto Saber, privately finding amusement in how her jaw clenched, though his lips settled back into a fond smile. “I know you’re mad at me--”

“I have a feeling that I’ve not even begun to feel such an emotion, Shirou.” She noted, a dry tone to her voice that reminded him of the countless times she’d scolded him before. Despite himself, his grin grew. He’d missed this. He couldn’t even begin to describe how it made him feel. “Then how about I make it up to you? Whatever you like, I’ll make it.”

The way her features slowly puffed up into an uncertain pout only made him laugh.


	3. Night Falls, PT2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part of the chapter was a bit short because I haven't quite sat down to do a lot of writing the past few days. I apologize, but it's something to tide you all over.

Fate/Black Eden

It was frankly a happy feeling, being able to cook again without using iron-shod implements. He’d adapted so long ago, but there was just something comforting about having something besides a giant iron cauldron to cook in.

His amber eyes settled back, studying the way the two women were sat across from one another at the table. Artoria studiously settled in seiza at the table, while Morgan was leaning forward with her chin upon her hands.

Returning his attention to the meal, he had to admit it was strange to be using a warehouse as an impromptu Temple and home, but there were stranger things he’d experienced.

+x+x+x+

“Dear little sister,” Morgan mused, settling her fingertips against one another as she leaned more onto the table, “I’ll be honest. I did not think for a moment that you would answer his summons. I was sure his changed nature would not have allowed it.”

Saber’s eyes narrowed, though she was aware it was more because of her annoyance at dealing with her traitorous sister rather than anything else. “I do not think there is a place in time where anyone but myself would answer the call of Emiya, Shirou.”

Morgan held up a finger, wiggling it with a wry grin. “But he is not Emiya, Shirou.”

Saber’s eyebrow rose, but she did not verbally respond. Morgan couldn’t help but be amused by her stoicism, turning her gaze unto the back of the man cooking. “He is Shirou Pendragon. A King of Britain, the Black Dragon.”

Amber eyes peeked over his shoulder, and Morgan wiggled her fingers at her husband as he gave her a warning stare. Knowing him, she dismissed it out of turn.

“It’s very obvious that something has happened- even before I add in your presence, yes.” Saber mused, glancing down at the change of clothes she’d been offered almost without words by her sister. It was a familiar outfit, and one that had brought a small smile to her face despite herself. The white shirt and the blue skirt along with her boots- fond memories reigned there.

“Well, you shouldn’t need to worry about it. Between myself and your darling Master, the only issue we’ll have is abiding his stringent requirements to -not- end up murdering any of his young friends.”

Saber raised a brow in turn, confused. Her gaze went onto Shirou as he finally set several plates with steak cutlets and rice before the two women. At Artoria’s look, Shirou simply shook his head. “It’s nothing to worry about, as she said. The most annoying person will be the King of Heroes and Berserker. With my younger self not summoning you, I will leave him to Rin and Sakura’s protection. Then, after we’ve taken care of the Grail, we’ll be free to go as we like.”

Placated by food, Saber began to chew tenderly on a piece of steak that was just akin to her fuzzy memories of the redhead. Wonderful, just so wonderful. “The real wild card isn’t even here yet.” Shirou mused, settling cups in front of both women and himself before alternating between two different tea sets. Morgan had never learned an appreciation for Japanese tea, and he’d never really cared. “Black, or Green, Saber?”

“Who is the wild card?” Saber mused, while gesturing quietly at the kettle with the black tea in it. As she went to take a sip when her cup was filled, Shirou’s hand stopped the rise of her wrist for a moment--

“Mordred.”

Saber understood now why he’d stopped her from drinking. “M-Mordred?”

“Oh, don’t worry, Sister. Our child could honestly care less about being your daughter-”

“-- daughter?”

“It’s part of that long story.” Shirou broke into the conversation, moving his hand away from Saber’s arm while he settled in to a drink himself. Food came next, though he had to pace himself while he ate so he could speak as well. “Mordred won’t be joining us until the spring, likely after Illya has managed to summon Berserker. This was going to be something of a--”

“-- Honeymoon~” Morgan broke in, earning an amused look from the dark-clad redhead.

Saber’s unimpressed look was only mitigated by how she was calmly shovelling food into her mouth. “Seconds please.”


	4. Omake 1 [EMIYA bashing & Chaldean Antics]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Due to being out of a job, I haven't really sat down to do any writing. Have a little omake to amuse you all until I can get some money flow and muse again.

.

Fate/Black Eden

Omake One  
EMIYA, and Chaldean Antics Pt. 2

For a moment, Shirou felt like he should have remembered this particular facet of the War. That is to say, the Archer who had seemed exceedingly interested in seeing him maimed.

Of course, in comparison, there was a deep and unabiding amount of schadenfreude to be associated with cutting the man’s arms off and watching him stand there with a gobsmacked look on his face.

Excalibur Morgan clutched loosely in his right hand, he noted, “It looks like you’ve been disarmed.”

The groan from Morgan and Artoria behind him told him that he’d done his job as a father just fine. He turned his gaze towards Mordred, who simply grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

“Also, you’re a dick.” His gaze turned back towards the maimed Archer and beyond him at Rin, whom was throwing up all over the rooftop they’d had their impromptu duel upon.

“And I’m not cleaning that up.”

+x+xChaldea+x+x+

Ruler had, like his wife, taken to hiding away in Shikibu’s library more often than not when they weren’t taking up their own private little room amidst the halls of Chaldea. Partially because Morgan was often there- not that she was ever anywhere her husband was not unless she was bothering someone else--

\-- but also partially because Shikibu was a woman whom he respected and enjoyed spending time with. After all, she was a Japanese spirit as well, and her genteel nature appealed to him in a great many ways.

He’d gotten warned off of hitting on the woman by his wife more than he could count, but frankly he wasn’t sure what she was so worried about. At least, until he’d started to realize that Morgan was jealous.

Who knew the Witch would have breast envy? Especially considering she was anything but flat. After all, she matched the grown Lancer Artoria’s bustline, so it was only mildly that the Author held the advantage over her.

Shirou, however, just used it as an excuse to tease his wife. Subtly, of course.

Gently settling the cup of oolong tea in front of the black-and-blue adorned woman, he settled into the chair across from her with his own cup. “Good evening again, Murasaki-sensei.”

“Ara? Thank you, Pendragon-sama. To what do I owe the pleasure of your company tonight in this gentle library? I do not see your wife with you like usual.”

Offering her a gentle smile, the pallid redhead’s glimmering golden eyes closed for a moment as he indulged in his tea, knowing she’d mirror the motion suitably out of her own manners. They’d met like this times enough that he could almost predict how long her sip would last and even with how many “breaths” she’d wait until she spoke again if he did not.

“Simply a fondness for this place, Murasaki-sensei. After all, there aren’t many places I can enjoy peace and solitude in these halls. As you know, my wife and daughter are both rather rambunctious and love to cause mischief.”

Offering a pleasant little smile to him in turn, he watched as she nursed the hard and bitter brew with a fondness he could only imagine those used to the deep and harsh tea leaves of days without mass produced sugar and as much honey. The oolong tea he often served was a deep gold and, even he had to admit to simmering honey in it otherwise the flavor was likely to make one sick. It was almost as strong as coffee, in his opinion.

“Ara? From where I sit, good King, you are just as much a troublemaker as they are.”

Her light giggle brought an amused, pleased little smile to his face. “And what makes you say that, my lady?”

The brunette woman raised a hand, pointing with an elongated finger with a purposefully long nail over his shoulder. His attention drawn to where his beloved wife as glowering at him through a space between books in a shelf. “Because you’re teasing your wife and inciting trouble with her.”

With a grin, he turned his attention back towards the author and took another light drink from his cup. “When I get back to the room later, she’ll have me make up for it. Besides, we’re friends, Murasaki-sensei. What’s a little flirting between friends?”

The way her purple eyes glinted with amusement said that he’d never been as clever as he thought he had. Nonetheless, he simply shrugged his shoulders and poured them both another cup.

The angry, bed-ruining apology was fun, even if Morgan would spend another week refusing to allow him to be alone in the library once again. No matter how Shikibu offered him a playful smile and then returned back to her beloved racks.

+x+x+x+x+

“I now call to order, the first official meeting of the Daddy’s Girl Servant group!” Archer Mordred noted, raising a fist clutching a glass mug filled with English Lager. Seated around the table were her Saber and Rider selves.


	5. Night Falls, PT3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This snippet is heavily mental, detailing a little bit of what occurred over the years without going into great depth. Frankly if you want action, this section of the fic will not be for you. Night Falls will end with the arrival of Mordred, and the beginning of the outright stomping / manipulating of the Heaven's Feel route by the Pendragon family.

Fate/Black Eden

The explanation had went about as well as he thought it could go. Partially because he’d tried to keep Morgan sedated through the most of it by virtue of playing with the Witch’s hair while she rested her head in his lap. Though she’d crept in with commentary here and there, he’d done as much as he could to keep the sisters from antagonizing one another.

It was doomed from the start, and he knew it, but that didn’t matter much in the long run. Regardless, by the end, he watched as Saber’s expressions morphed steadily between pity for him, annoyance with his nature, and outright dismissal of just how far he’d fallen in favor of saving them all.

[Into the Night]

The truth was, that pity hurt him more than he could admit. The rest of her emotions were well known to him, but at the end of the day, to see the pity that had been reflected in her eyes so long ago, as his blade had crushed Arthurian Britain without mercy--

\-- he ached. Enough that he could feel a trail of tears trickling down his left cheek to meld into the red lightning that scarred his skin forever as evidence of his new fae-like being. An elemental. Memories of those who had tried to hunt him, his wife, and child melding together.

It all always ended the same. With him standing above them, Excalibur Morgan dribbling with blood. Sometimes he would be more wounded than others, but Avalon Alternative- slumbering away inside of him- was always rife with energy. Energy spent in order to preserve his own Mystery and the strength of Excalibur Morgan itself. Thankfully, it spent very little since he now was legitimately a legendary figure in his own right. The concept of “the Black Dragon” had been applied to him. It had weakened Mordred’s own “Mystery” but that was wholly irrelevant, since she was Morgan and Artoria’s child. Both Alaya and Gaia were hard-pressed into preserving the existence of Morgan and Mordred- he had always been the one who struggled to “exist”.

Being back in his own proper time period, and now becoming a battery for the natural energy suffusing the planet had made the strain on his abilities lessen. He wasn’t at the same strength as when he’d slain the Lion King, but that was hardly necessary against Servants not backed by Alaya.

One couldn’t rely on the whims of beings beyond mortal ken. He’d been on the side of the human collective at that time, and Morgan had empowered him beyond his own survival. The only reason he hadn’t died on the day of Camlann had been because of Avalon Alternative.

The only severe impact now was that Avalon Alternative did not act like the original, becoming stronger in effect closer to Saber. It was already performing at its max potential simply by being imbued within his being.

It was not like it’s original, able to reverse causality itself purely by nature of it’s Mystery. It was, like him, a pale imitation.

But imitations could defeat the original, with effort. And Shirou Pendragon was filled with nearly two millennia of effort. Blades from throughout history lingered in the darkness that had become his Avalon, the sole ray of light now standing before him. Within his soul warred two distinct realities, that of Unlimited Blade Works and the innumerable blackness that sprung forth from Avalon Alternative. It was a dichotomy that blended together to form the new distortion that was Shirou’s existence.

It was the very image of the world of shadows that lived within him, projected forth through Unlimited Blade Works to become a world wreathed in shadows save for the sole light that functioned as the basis of his stark forward movement. A sunny meadow where Excalibur, Excalibur Morgan, and Caliburn lay in wait, forever. The blackened sword prominent above the other two due to his choice.

Shirou Pendragon was not a hero. Once upon a time, he would have become worthy of that title.

Now, however, he was just a creature that resembled a man. Like his beloved Saber, he was a Dragon- though not one blessed with a natural Magical Core. Instead, an artificial one had been created via the implantation of Avalon Alternative.

+x+x+x+x

[Ie nu Kizuato]

Day had come once again, the rising of the sun a pleasant change of scenery from the night’s safeties. Fuyuki was as he’d remembered- as sparsely as he did, a long life did in some way destroy some of his mental faculties, after all- so long ago. Morgan had been playfully quick about assuring the two they would go unbothered during their trip out into the waking world. He hadn’t bothered to press Morgan on her own intents, knowing that she would share if it was pertinent to him.

Part of their relationship was built on mutual trust, as odd as that sounded. He trusted her to do what was best for their family, and in the same breath, he also trusted her to know when to keep her more vile thoughts out of his earshot.

That did not mean he did not know, but it meant that he could deny involvement. Even though he followed her whims without question most of the time. It had killed countless humans, but never once had he felt like it was unworthy or insincere.

Their lives were just not measured up against Morgan’s, or Mordred’s. That was just how it was.

His gaze turned unto Saber as they walked along the thoroughfare through the shopping district. His almost formal ensemble fitted with a heavy pea coat in a deep red to stand out in stark contrast from his otherwise black ensemble. Somewhere in Britain, a Magus felt a brief stirring of annoyance at someone stealing his style.

There was an amusement to be said of the possibility of running into this world’s version of himself- or of being mistaken for him. Of course, his own hair was slightly longer than he could remember it being at his age, slightly more coppery than the rustic red, as well as his pallid skin. Enough differences to sway people away that he felt comfortable with the knowledge that no one would mistake him for Emiya, Shirou.

The streaks of red lightning were easily hidden with a simple illusory effect, one that Morgan had to drill into his head due to his own incompetence at Magecraft that did not rely on his Origin and Element- or on the things that could be produced through it. His wife had lamented his utter specialization when it came to points like this.

He simply saw it as a flaw of character. Everyone needed one, to help them stay grounded. Otherwise, he could see himself becoming like Gilgamesh- thoroughly rooted in his own perceived superiority.

Shirou never wanted to be like Gilgamesh.

“What shall we do today?” He asked the blonde gently, a smile stretching his face as those green eyes locked onto him and blinked. He admired the way her blue scarf and white jacket added to her “cute” appeal. Fond memories came forth easily, despite himself.

Memories of her fading away. After all the good times they’d had, even though it had been the most dangerous time of his life.

[La Sola]

Funny that he could still see it that way. Two millenia later, and he could remember his own vulnerability. Now, when he was no longer vulnerable, no longer weak--

\-- but no longer Emiya, Shirou. He’d cast away what he was in order to become strong enough to take what he wanted.

That had been the worry of Morgan when he’d prepared the ritual to summon a Servant. That the death of his “self” had removed him from compatibility with Saber- and he no longer had Avalon to bridge the connection.

He could admit he’d worried himself.

“Since it is still early, we should have a fulfilling breakfast.” He couldn’t stop the smile that froze on his face. “Then, we. . . that is . . .” Ah, and the succinct little nervousness that warmed him when she became shy. Her naivety in the face of human interactions as simple as a “date” reminding him just why he’d fallen in love with her so long ago.

“How about we just take it a step at a time?” He offered her a gloved hand, contented when she blushed--

\-- but all the same she still folded her fingers with his. Until the War was ready to begin, he would indulge in this.

After all, when Mordred arrived, they’d have to begin preparing. In a long list of things to be done to orchestrate the War, it would be a long time until he could enjoy her presence again.

So, just for a little while, he would remind himself what it was like to be in love with a girl.


	6. Night Falls, PT4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Y'all want a pubstomp, say Pendrag-  
Pendrag- Pendragon.

Fate/Black Eden

Morgan expected the month until Mordred flew back in to languish, and yet instead it flew by, even with Artoria’s presence in their lives. Shirou and Saber had mingled and quantified it with setup for the war effort. She’d rolled her eyes at it, but she knew her husband wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true.

He couldn’t set up the webwork of relays that she was interspersing through Fuyuki, but he could prepare for things in a more firm way. Not that Morgan thought anyone could truly match her husband AND Artoria going up against them, but the Witch thought that it was better to nip the potential in the bud rather than grow too complacent.

Her darling Shirou was involved, after all. Morgan did not play games. The one time she’d done that, she’d almost lost him.

The arrival of December came much quicker than she thought it would. Before she knew it, she was waiting in the arrivals of the airport on the outskirts of Fuyuki for her errant daughter. Fiddling with one of the modern age’s so vaunted “cell phones”, she tapped away at it as she waited. The mysticism of technology was lost on her, personally, but their family was wealthy and it was expected for a woman of a proud lineage to dress and appear the best.

She’d accepted Shirou’s playful, smiling praise much more easily than she ought to have. She knew it was just another layer of protection to have for her, but she shouldered the burden to make her husband happy.

Even if the stupid thing made her feel old. Why did it have so many buttons? Stupid piece of plastic.

“Mama!” She glanced up from the lit display, noting the hooligan-esque attire of Mordred as she stood. Pulling her own fur-ruffed coat from the back of her chair, she made her way over towards the younger blonde.

“Hello, dear. Are you excited to see your father?” There was no hug, Morgan wouldn’t have put up with it anyway. Though, she no longer had to press down negative feelings about the bow-wielding girl. Some might call her a stiff, even stern, mother--

\-- but at least she tried. “You bet! Wait, do you mean Papa, or do you mean Father?”

“Both.”

x+x+x+x

A car was a status symbol in Japan. It wasn’t used as much due to the fact the country was much smaller and more densely packed than Europe- or especially America. It was the kind of expense a modern day Queen would make, so she’d dragged Shirou along to make the purchase.

There’d been something utterly satisfying about the prissy older man being left speechless after having (politely) denigrated the couple against the purchase. After all, for all they were both nearly two millennia old, Shirou still looked to be in the prime of his life in his early twenties, and Morgan was every bit the ephemeral beauty she’d been since she’d first learned magic.

Mordred loved it the moment they pulled up in the black and dark red sports car. A Bugatti, a french company’s car. Morgan viewed it as an homage to her beloved mother- it was the kind of wild, powerful machine that she would have loved. Like a premiere stallion or mare.

At the time, she’d wondered what Igraine Pendragon would have thought of her husband. She probably would have hated him, if the Witch was honest. It would have been the doting, overprotective hate of a mother who didn’t see anyone as being good enough for her darling child, but she hoped the woman would have eventually come to adore her husband.

And then Mordred had put her puppy-dog eyes at her and her father in an attempt to get to take the thing for a spree. To this day, their child had never been allowed behind it’s wheel. And even now, as Morgan pulled through Japanese traffic going towards their actual manor home in Fuyuki’s more rooted neighborhood, Mordred pouted and muttered about how she was driving the car like it was a glass toy rather than the monstrous thing it was.

Morgan personally thought it just showed her own grace.

“How was America?” Morgan asked, finally, as they got into the outskirts of the city. It was an English manor that they’d had constructed nearly twenty-three years ago, but as Morgan had carefully had it arranged, they’d only moved in nearly a year and a half ago. She’d amused herself at Shirou’s regret at living so close to Tohsaka, Rin- whom he had assured her was the Master of the servant Archer. A man he seemed personally inclined to deal with.

She felt a private thrill at the dark look that had been on his face when he’d said so. She’d dragged him to a bed and then promptly indulged him in what she was fondly coming to see as a very healthy marriage. Shirou was attractive, and she loved him deeply--

\--but nothing got her slavering for his body like when his normally kind and patient visage would touch on the darkness inside. It always meant she could rely on him to pour all of his emotions into their trysts, and Morgan proudly wore the look of a Queen the days after he had his way with her like he was the King he should act like. If she’d been capable of bruising, she would have worn every one like a badge of honor.

“Really weird.” Mordred admitted, reclining as much in her overly fancy seat as was possible. It was a sports car, after all, it wasn’t made for long and relaxing rides. “Do you know how tough it is to step away from being a British girl? They have iced tea, Mama. Iced. Tea.”

Morgan could only let a smirk trail her lips.

“It’s the best fucking thing since Papa’s pastries.”

And just like that, the Witch sighed.

+x+x+x+x+

As they pulled into the drive and slid the expensive sports car into the garage, Morgan and Mordred both slipped from the car. As the Witch’s eyes raised, she spied Artoria dressed in a suit waiting within the frame of the door leading into the manor proper. A fine gold brow quirked in response.

“Sister.” The Servant noted, then- with noticeable discomfort- turned unto the sparsely dressed girl with her suitcases being pulled from the tiny boot of the car. Mordred, with the twin cases that held both the Witchwood Bow and the form of Clarent slung over one shoulder, blinked and then grinned like a lion. “Mordred.”

“Artoria.” Morgan responded in kind, shucking her coat as she walked past her sister and into the adjoining entryway. The Witch didn’t look back, but she practically heard the way Artoria stiffened when Mordred followed along behind and patted her birth father upon the shoulder.

“Long time no see, Father. Hey, has Papa made dinner already? Please say yes. I’m fuckin’ starving.”

“Language, Mordred.” Morgan noted without much heat, even though privately she was just as curious. It was nearing dinner time, after all.

“Shirou has been waiting for you two to get back before serving, yes.”

“Ah, that explains why you were waiting for us like a guard dog, then.” Morgan mused, and when Artoria didn’t respond, she knew she’d hit the nail on the head.

The three women stepped through a foyer and then into the dining hall. While the house was large, the largest rooms were the master bedroom on the second floor and the foyer, the rest had been carefully clipped to be suitable for a smaller family rather than a fully extended one. The Witch heard as Mordred set her luggage at the foot of the staircase, while her attention remained fixed on the kitchen beyond the dining room.

“Husband, your daughter is home. Your women are hungry.” She used the phrasing in specific to tease him- and Artoria both from the sound of her sister’s soft little noise of discontent. As she went to step into the kitchen to confirm his location, she was obstructed by the Tyrant himself holding aloft a heavy metallic pot.

Even before he spoke, she drifted to the side and let him through. “Great. It’s nice and cold today, so I made shabu-shabu. If you would like a drink, Morgan, there’s a chilled bottle of wine ready. Red and heavy, just as you please.”

Gods, I want to fuck him on the table right now. Morgan mentally muttered. Mine. MINE.

Particularly possessive thoughts aside, she moved into the kitchen and retrieved the ice-chilled bucket for the wine bottle and the plate filled over with the thinly sliced steak for the Japanese meal. By the time she got back into the dining room, she settled the platter and the bucket on the table between all of them and then took her seat to Shirou’s right. Across from her sat Artoria, and to her right side sat Mordred, looking ravenously at the food on display in the broiling pot.

Hungry dragons, indeed. Not that her own squeezing stomach denied that her husband’s cooking wasn’t some kind of miracle item that somehow made women pliant to his whims. It was some kind of Noble Phantasm, she’d swear. Standing, she poured a glass of wine for everyone while he began to feed strips of steak into the pot.

And so they ate. Mordred regaled them with talks of America and her time indulging with the Magi and the college she’d studied at in New York. It’d been a whim, but it had been an entertaining one on her part.

Morgan couldn’t personally see her child as a collegiate student, but apparently she’d enjoyed it. Who was she to judge? All three of them officially, under several different names, had degrees in various subjects. Shirou was, in this era, a vaunted historical anthropologist with “underworld” contacts to keep him above Moonlit scrutiny. Morgan was a child of old money, sequestered away from society save for a whirlwind romance that had led to Mordred’s (Momo’s) birth and her position as the head of the Pyndraig family, which Shirou had married into. Artoria (Altria) was Morgan’s sister, freshly come from Britain in order to reconnect after a bitter feud in the family.

The best lie was the one that was steeped in truth, after all. So steeped that it was both too convenient, and too illogical. Morgan was well practiced in deception, after all. It did, however, always amuse her that people would make the assumption that she would be some bratty young woman whom had married a well-to-do man in order to preserve further her own riches.

She’d been to countless parties and high society gatherings on her husband’s arm, and suffered the leisure of men seeking to court her away from her husband, and women who played catty with her- or even had the bald-faced ugliness to flirt with her husband.

He never failed to impress with his willingness to play Knight for her. The men were socially dismembered with the grace of a King, and she took personal pleasure in being able to hold her own in advanced subject material--

\--and when she just didn’t feel like it, she’d slip a finger into the breast of his jacket, pull him in tight to her, and stake her claim with a kiss that always reminded her that she’d taught him how to please her well. Harpies dispersed with a quickness when he wrapped his arms around her, or- even better- when his golden eyes would stare at them like they were filth that he couldn’t even be bothered with brushing off his shoe.

Gods, she was going to do her level best to break his hips tonight. Dinner first, then they’d discuss plans for the War, then they would have time to relax.

And she’d finally put her foot down and take her husband back from her sister for the night. Morgan looked forward to it.

Pouring another glass of wine for everyone, Morgan raised the flute by the stem and, with a malign smile, noted--

\-- “The night is young, so shall we take a long stroll through it, my dear family?”

The wordplay did not fall on deaf ears, and she privately enjoyed the sight of Mordred’s gleeful grin, Shirou’s slight smirk, and Artoria’s grim determination.

It would be a good, fun, short war.


	7. The Purple and the Red, PT1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AN: People are gonna like this. More Morgan POV- in fact, we’ll get a lot of Morgan’s POV through the story, since we’d just rehash a lot of the VN through the Shirou-s. This way, you get to indulge in something resembling surprise. I hope you all love sitting pretty in the Witch’s brain.

Fate/Black Eden

Chapter Two  
The Purple and the Red

It all began here, a funny thing to consider. Morgan herself had never been here before, but she knew most everything there was to know about Fuyuki due to her connection with Shirou. She could construct a perfect image of the Emiya estate, of the time table of her husband’s “proper self”. She could perfectly picture the face of a teen Tohsaka, Rin, or Matou, Sakura.

And those two were the first targets of her division of the war. In a way, there was no need for them to secure the modern day Emiya, Shirou’s health- but it had been something of a gentle gift. The World aligned itself carefully by the axes of quantum time locks, and the life and death of Emiya, Shirou did not have that level of importance.

But, he was useful as a control for her husband’s former friends and allies. Perhaps it was a kindness to be done to the girls, rather than the cruelty that vacating them both from the War would do.

It was hard to say. Morgan, personally, would have been just as content to wait for them to summon their Servants and then eradicate them all. After all, once upon a time, they had been able to draw Shirou’s eye. If she had not had fifteen-hundred years with her husband, it would have been the very first option.

Instead, she luxuriated in her prowess and dominance over the two. A pair of girls who held no ability or power against her- they did not even know she existed. But their lives sat gently in her fingertips. It was the kind of dark impulse that Morgan loved deeply.

Rin would be dealt with by Shirou later, she knew. In that instance, the young Sakura had been left in the hands of Morgan herself. A risky idea on her husband’s part, but one she could appreciate. His research into the Matou household after the War had turned up a dark and disturbing truth.

And it had begun with an injury. One that Emiya, Shirou had already sustained. An excuse for Matou, Sakura to be near the man she loved. An excuse to escape the abuse and the horror- if only for a short time.

Morgan did not empathize with the purple-haired girl, but she saw a tool ready to be used. A tool that would be only too happy if she were greased with the right oil. An oil gently called Emiya, Shirou.

It was time to introduce herself- and secure a girl’s loyalty.

+x+x+x+

The first step was always the simplest. Establish contact, create control. It was a concept mired in Magecraft itself. Compacts were made in magical codes long before they lost that power, and Magi were the most beholden to that truth. The Fae were creatures that relied on such powerful magic, after all.

For Morgan, the only difficulty would be ingratiating herself while avoiding contact with the girl’s sister, and her “adoptive family”. That was neatly solved by one very simple trick. One she could do as gracefully as possible purely by being able to lay eyes upon the girl- an easy enough thing by simply spying her on her morning trip towards the Emiya clan ground.

Taking advantage of the budding darkness within the girl, a trait that her beloved husband had never noticed until it had been far too late. A Magecraft akin to the caress of a succubus, a vivid dream. Modern day Magi found it impossible to affect others without relying on senses that could be swayed through the innate resistance of od against foreign od, but plenty knew the nature of hypnotism.

She was just much more proven at it. And Matou, Sakura, did not have the resistance to magic her own sister had when she’d used the same trick in order to conceive Mordred. No physical interference was needed for her this time. Only a vision of what she would face- and an implanted suggestion that she would need to protect her beloved.

The easiest magic was the magic made by one’s own mind and soul, after all. It required no energy expenditure, and was as immutable as a Geas itself. The proof of being a great magician was, after all, how much you could do with what you had- rather than what you could do.

So what if she teased the girl with a promise of a future with her beloved? As long as the girl obeyed, the little “pet” could have the toy of the unworthy child.

What if it was vengeance against Tohsaka, Rin? She was Morgan Pendragon, she could do as she pleased.

+x+x+x+

By the time she returned to the Pyndraig home, Mordred had posted up on the front porch with an acoustic guitar she tuned and toyed with. Raising a brow, the Witch stood nearby her child, waiting for an explanation. It took a few (admittedly frustrating) moments for her rebellious child to notice her arrival.

“Oh, Mama-”

“Don’t give me that, Mordred. What are you doing?”

“Eh? Tuning my guitar-”

“When did you learn to play?” Morgan noted, feeling a tic develop on her brow. Mordred’s cheesy grin didn’t help matters- it reminded her far too much of her beloved husband, which only served to alert her to just how much Shirou had influenced their child. Morgan would never even admit that she thought of Mordred in such terms, either- even now when she’d long since become something akin to a mother to her.

Yes, the Witch considered Mordred her child with Shirou. Certainly, they could have made good on their marriage and tried to have another, but Morgan had learned a hatred for children thanks to her sister Anna. Mordred was plenty. The benefits of Magecraft- being able to sap the prana from sexual exchanges in order to evade such . . . downsides.

Even now, she would not admit that Shirou had swayed her to that kind of thinking, or that Mordred had long since grown on her. That way lay madness.

“Er-” Mordred’s face melted into one of confusion. “Like- a decade ago, I think? I- I don’t actually remember.” That nervous grin only showcased just how lucky she and Shirou were to have kept a good portion of their memories.

“Where’s your father?”

“You mean Father or do you mean Papa?” Morgan rolled her eyes at the question, wondering when she’d have to stop elaborating on that. Mordred didn’t even consider Artoria anything other than a glorified sperm donor, so in her eyes, Morgan saying the vaunted “f word” might as well always refer to Shirou.

“Your Papa, Mordred. If I know where he is, I generally will know where my sister is.”

“Oh. He’s- ah- I think he said he was either going to prepare the battlefield at the Castle, or he was going to do something around the Church?”

So he was preparing for the War as well. Not surprising, especially considering she knew one of those targets was someone he held a particular hatred for. The question was, which was the more likely? Illyasviel von Einzbern was, ostensibly, his adopted older sister. The “old” Shirou would have been trying to figure out how to protect and save her above all else.

Which only meant one thing. HER Shirou would surely be readying to face the King of Heroes and his bastard of a “Master”. The little homunculus could be dealt with at leisure after she’d played her part in the War to come, so of course he would follow her own thoughts and deal with the bigger threat.

Certainly, he couldn’t outright fight the King of Heroes himself without a myriad of advantages, but securing those advantages was much more manageable. It pleased her.

“I presume that Artoria is still here at the house, then, since I doubt he’d have let her come with him lest she draw too much attention.”

Mordred, still grinning, nodded. “Father’s pouting in the kitchen. Papa made scones and snuck out while we were distracted.”

It was telling that Mordred admitted that outright. He’d probably outright told the red knight what was going on. Though, the promise of fruit-filled pastries made the Witch dismiss the conversation in favor of her husband’s cooking. Stepping past her daughter, she moved back into the house while the sound of plucking strings trilled from behind her. Heeled boots clicked and clacked against the wooden floors as she moved through the foyer and into the dining room, where she did indeed discover Artoria “pouting” while nursing a hot kettle of tea and a plate of scones that likely had been much taller before she’d arrived.

Swallowing past a mouthful of the treat, Artoria noted, “Sister.” As opposed to the black suit or the white and blue ensemble that had seemed a gentle keepsake from Shirou, she was wearing a sweater-top and jeans with a similarly fur-ruffed coat sat against the back of her chair.

The fact her sister’s hair wasn’t in that milkmaid’s braid and was instead in a ponytail made her wonder just what efforts the Servant had tried to use to keep her Master at home- or to convince him to bring her along.

No, her sister wouldn’t stoop to such things--

\-- would she?

Morgan’s eyes narrowed. She stole a scone from Artoria’s plate and poured herself a cup of tea, ignoring the squawk of the King as she did so. She would, indeed.

Mhn, raspberry. “Shirou made those for me.” The Servant muttered, even while Morgan raised a dry brow at her sister.

“I doubt it. He probably made a platter full, and you’ve simply had most of all of them- that Mordred didn’t take before you could get your hands on them.”

The look on Artoria’s face- half between a pout and half a shocked blush- spoke to how close she was to the truth. Pausing to chew on her own treat- warm enough to enjoy the fruit within but not so hot as to make drinking it with hot tea unbearable- she continued after swallowing. “You’re lucky you got any of them. Mordred loves sweets.”

Artoria mused, “Shirou dotes on her.”

Morgan agreed, though she did not say so. Artoria continued after a moment of silence, “You told me the story, but I still find it hard to believe. I remember the Mordred who did all she could to rebel against me after . . .”

The Witch went right for the jugular- there was no need to be gentle, it was a vision she’d seen over and over, after all. “You denied her very existence?”

Saber flinched, and the Witch smiled, nursing her teacup. “It’s amazing what one good parent will do.”

Artoria raised a brow in return, “Shirou?”

Morgan simply shrugged in return. “It certainly wasn’t me. I hated her. She was a reminder of my weakness.” The way Artoria looked at her made her hiss in return, “Don’t you give me that look. You did worse than I ever could have done to her. All she ever wanted from you was your attention, and you couldn’t even praise her after all she did for you.”

Her temper had grasped hold of her, but the way Artoria flinched away was so -damned- satisfying.

“That never even happened in this world.” The Servant murmured, “Instead, she slew Gawain and Tristan. The books still act as if things happened the proper way, but . . .”

Morgan felt her eyes roll, a complete reflex as opposed to a purposeful movement. “She had a father who loved her, and taught her everything she could learn from him. A father who wanted her to smile and be a happy child for as long as she would be. Then, she had a King who lauded her and rewarded her. The fact that I would give her the time of day was enough to make her love me again. I damn near miss when she was but a little creature.”

Artoria blinked. “The sister who hated children?”

“She was easier to deal with when all it took to make her behave was a promise of a treat. Now the only one of us who can get her to mind is Shirou- she’s a Princess through and through.” The Witch’s green eyes trailed towards the porch where she was sure Mordred was still twanging away on her guitar.

“She doesn’t act like one.” Artoria mused, nibbling on the next to last scone- letting out another indignant noise when Morgan took the last one.

“Watch when he’s around. You’re not used to it. If she thought she could get away with it, she’d have him piggyback-carrying her around still.” Morgan’s jealous nature always flared up when Mordred went about playing up her daddy’s girl side. Shirou would drop everything to coddle the woman.

She’d never agree to the fact that he did the same for her, either. What mattered was what Morgan wanted, after all.

The fact that Artoria was giving her a particularly wry look said she was being judged, so she flicked the remnants of the last scone at her sister’s face, ignoring the way the Servant snapped her jaw and swallowed it down.


	8. The Purple and the Red, PT2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More foreshadowing, and Artoria/Mordred bonding? Say it ain't so.

**Fate/Black Eden**

  
  


_ How best shall we use you, my dear? _ Morgan mused, painted nails tapping across her jaw as she watched the young Tohsaka meander her way through a school day within a (terribly cliche, Shirou had teased) crystalline ball. It was boring and mundane at it’s finest, but it was the basis of a pattern for the girl. Patterns had their own magical nature, something that Morgan herself indulged in as was necessary.

Shirou had insisted he deal with Tohsaka and Archer, but- well- if he’d thought that she would allow him to do so purely on his own, he was delusional. Of course, she understood innately that his words always came with the caveat of “If it pleases you”.

She was a good wife that way.

Feeling a familiar pinprick of awareness within the bounded field surrounding their home, she stood from her impromptu vigil, and moved through the Pyndraig manor home. Descending down the staircase back into the foyer and noting the presence of her husband as he stepped inside and shucked his heavy coat onto a rack. “Welcome home, husband.” She noted, pleasantly as she moved in closer to him, one of his arms opening up to wrap around her waist as she drew in to steal a kiss from his lips.

Morgan loved Shirou’s kisses. The bestial, hungry ones that she could evoke in him during moments of passion, tender little lip-locks like this one, and even the light brush of lip against lip that signified sweet partings.

She’d worked hard for such things. Even as his gleaming amber eyes settled on her face, she could only smile indulgently at him in turn. “Where are Mordred and Artoria?” He asked, keeping her tucked close as he almost danced their way into the dining room and towards the kitchen.

She let out a soft scoff, but did not pull away from his “cheeky” attentions. “Mordred is napping the afternoon away. And can’t you ask your “Servant” where she is?”

His lips curled into a benign smirk as they approached the door to the kitchen and he separated from her long enough to let them both fit into one of the most expense-heavy parts of the house. Shirou was the only one whom had argued against the kitchen being as luxurious as possible, and he’d been overruled by both herself and Mordred.

She wasn’t sure why he’d even tried.

“I could. But, she’s your sister- and I’d like for you two to at least get along NOW, since I wasn’t able to save the both of you.”

Morgan’s nose wrinkled. Even after almost two millennia, he still felt sour about that? She watched as he separated from her once again with a chaste little swipe of his lips against hers, the redheaded man washing through the kitchen like a tidal wave as he began to prepare dinner. “You blame yourself, still?” The Witch murmured. They’d had this conversation so many times, so perhaps she was the one who was crazy for having thought that her beloved- flawed- husband would change his mind about any of that.

He paused as he pulled a heavy package of ground meat from their fridge, shoulders slumping somewhat. She could see the marks of Fae corruption stand out in relief against his pale flesh, as he robotically moved his way over to the sink and began to prepare the meat for what she presumed to be “hamburg steak”. Why the Japanese would insist that such a thing existed, she wasn’t sure.

“You know I can’t help it.” He responded, finally, as he began to season the pink mass. Shuffling over against the island of the kitchen, she leaned against it and let her arms cross under her bust.  _ Just the way you can’t help but want to go save your step-sister, hm- even if she’s not YOUR step-sister anymore. _

Illyasviel von Einzbern was an interesting prospect. So much research had gone into her when Shirou had talked about what little he’d learned of the little homunculus after the War, and most of it had been . . .

Disheartening, to say the least. Before she’d become the house for the Lesser Grail, she had been a miracle of Homunculus “technology” so to speak. Mordred was still leaps and bounds ahead of her physically speaking, but she had never designed the blonde Knight to be an actual conduit into the Root. And now that she had been infused with the essence of the Fae, Mordred was only as strange a creature as any other being sustained by Gaia’s metaphorical breast.

What fascinating madness humans indulged in. Today’s Magi were severely different from Merlin or herself, or even the lesser known or even hidden like Aethach had been. Aethach had been a . . . breath of fresh air, to be honest. The Celts were a refreshingly straightforward people, and Aethach had personified that to a deep degree. From what she’d been told by her husband, she matched her father well in that regard.

Morgan had kept a wry eye on the Druid when they left Britain, but she’d vanished into the chaos of the world when the Witch had grown bored of her own paranoia- at some point when they’d started to pass through modern-day China. From what she’d come to understand, the lineage of Cu Chulainn and Scathach had continued into the modern day through her actions- someone that Shirou had learned existed only after the war . . . A woman wielding a weapon no human should have a right to- but whom had died before the war had even begun properly.

No one worth saving, of course. Even if it might satisfy her husband’s distaste for the Priest, he had grown wise enough to heed her when it came to a discussion of the King of Heroes’ involvement.

Her husband could not rely on luck and the man’s own arrogance this time. She did, however . . . have a plan.

One that involved a cute little lady whom would make a suitable protector for this world’s Emiya, Shirou.

She had indulged Sakura in dream after dream, but so far had been gentle of approaching the girl in earnest. It would take a little more subtle interference until she knew she could deal with the hangers-on within the girl. Her soul’s connection with the Servant Rider was not to be trusted, either.

That was when the festivities would begin in earnest. Morgan smiled as her thoughts drifted away, moving out of her husband’s kitchen so as not to alarm him with the grin that steadily warped her lips.

The Tohsaka girl would be kept safe under the grace of her King. In her kindness, she would allow the second Lesser Grail to have the man she longed for- if only to further spite the girl whom had once been her husband’s confidante. And, by the end of the debacle, they would return to England with her incarnated sister.

It was a bitter pill to swallow, that last one, but she would put up with it. Shirou made her willing to abide by a great many things.

That was what real love did, after all.

  
  


+x+x+x+

  
  


Scouting the Einzbern castle had taken time, since Shirou had been forced to be wary of its bounded fields and Ilya’s wire familiars. It was a thankless job, but one he took on for what could be called the good of his own soul. Distance diminished, and an awareness that- yes- she had once again arrived with Berserker gave him a strange sense of comfort.

He should have been worried, considering Berserker was their most dangerous opponent after Gilgamesh, but the giant and Ilya could be . . . manipulated.

The fact that he even humored that thought made him aware of how he’d been affected by his time in Camelot and by Morgan’s side. The killing, the experiments- truly, very little remained of the Emiya, Shirou he’d once been, hm?

That was fine. All kids grew up, after all. At his core, he was the same person- perhaps just a little sharpened around the edges. Nonetheless, with that confirmation- and the installation of another of what he’d come to call Morgan’s “leyline jacks”- he made his way back towards Fuyuki proper.

By the time he’d stepped unto the first street, Saber appeared quietly from behind a tree lining the road dressed in the suit that she’d admitted a fondness for in her memories. It was strange to see her look both so gallant and yet so strangely effeminate.

It began to make sense how people could see her as a beautiful young man, rather than the lovely young woman he had fallen in love with. Though, if he was honest, he could do without the confusing punch to his sexuality.

As she fell into step with him, he slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat, letting the beauty of a late-spring day wash over him. “Are we ready?” She asked, and he simply nodded.

“Except for whatever Morgana is doing.”

“This may seem . . . callous,” Artoria warned, even while his gaze settled unto her and he stopped his brisk pace to stand there with her, “But, do you truly trust her without supervision?”

Unable to help himself, he smiled. A hand reached out to tickle pale fingers across his Servant’s cheek, making her flush, “I trust her as much as I trust you.” And that was that, in his mind. She blinked, but caught back up as they strolled their way back towards home.

  
  


+x+x+x+

  
  


Artoria did not envy her sister, or Shirou. Spending time with Mordred was- well- a handful. Not that this version of her child was less enjoyable than her own had been- after all, they’d killed one another over an admittedly uninspired reason- but . . .

She was a Princess, Morgan hadn’t been wrong. Hooting and hollering her way through the streets of Fuyuki on the back of the motorcycle that had been appropriated for “entertainment” for herself and their daughter.

If she hadn’t retained some memories of her time with Irisviel, Artoria would have wondered if she didn’t deserve this. Instead, she could only call this karmic justice. As they pulled up to a stop signal around the bend from the market where Shirou had been about to head out earlier in the day, she mused on the nature of such “father-son” bonding time.

Well, “father-daughter”. This Mordred wasn’t as caught up in the nature of her sex, since it wasn’t- well- relevant. She craned her head back, noting, “Is this really that fun for you, Mordred?”

“Is it?! Do you know how Mom and Papa drive, Father? Like old people! You actually HIT THE GAS! Go-go-go!”

Saber could only shake her head as the light turned green and she pulled a pin-point turn that caused an excited squeal to erupt from the woman holding her middle in her tight red biker leathers.

Despite herself, Artoria smiled.

She wouldn’t mind enjoying this for awhile, even if her heart was a little caught up in how confusing the world had gotten since she’d been summoned . . .”again” by Shirou.


	9. The Purple and the Red, Pt3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will end out the Tohsaka Sisters section, with Morgan manipulating and bringing Sakura "in" on the war by putting her as Shirou's protector using Rider.

**Fate/Black Eden**

  
  
  


A month passed, with her interference with the purple-haired child continuing unabated. If she’d been more direct, she might have worried about the involvement of her miserable leeches, but all of it could easily be hidden under the guise of her . . . own contamination, pleasantly.

Morgan was the Witch, after all. She understood all too well how to move in shadows, and Sakura was a girl wreathed in them, even if she desperately clung to the light.

In another world, she would have made an excellent Master, if she herself had ever become a Servant. Praise be to small mercies, however. She could not imagine what would have happened to the world if the girl had gained the power and scheming of Morgan le Faye. It would have cost the girl her autonomy- she would have used her gleefully as a tool for her own ends- but Morgan could see herself appreciating the young woman’s drive and hunger.

It hit too close to home, if she was honest. The more she thought about that, the more she questioned Shirou’s willingness to let her handle the girl.

. . . He knew. Of course he would. How proud of her King she was, just then. Unable to help herself, she began to giggle as she walked through the neighborhood containing Tohsaka, Rin’s home. With the girl still at school, it was time for her own manner of interference to begin. Shirou had insisted he handle Archer and the girl, but- well- she’d already thought plenty about how much he knew she’d interfere anyway, hm?

The first step was to modify the Bounded Field surrounding the home, preparing a “back door” that would allow her own scrying techniques to know explicitly when the Servant would arrive. The hard part was making it so miniscule as to make it unnoticeable to the other Magus- and at such a range where it couldn’t be detected by the girl.

Thankfully, she was Morgan le Faye, not some common modern magi.

Modern bounded fields were nowhere near as express as even what she’d done with Avalon Alternative- a “cheat code” as the young called it in this day and age. The Tohsaka girl’s Bounded Field was elegant, but simple- and in this instance, simple was not a bad thing. Simplicity meant it could be restored if it was broken, a major worry in their lifestyle.

It also, however, meant it only took a little trial and error before one knew what they were dealing with. Feeding a “Command” into the framework of the spell was as simple as adjusting the way the Field operated, then having it integrate itself into the field’s array.

While it was inoperable, it would be unnoticeable. And it would take the girl actively studying the field itself to note it even while it was in operation- something she wouldn’t be able to do when she was busy with expending enough mana to summon her Servant.

Reconnaissance, complete. Now- she looked at her watch on her left wrist, a gold-wreathed thing that implied her status- she had an hour to kill before she had to “stumble into” the young Matou on her way home from school.

Today was the day the games begin. Six months until the day the Holy Grail War would begin, and- by Shirou’s metric- the War would last two weeks if it proceeded as it had in his own timeline.

Morgan felt they could easily cut that time in half.

With not enough time to head back to the manor without using her magecraft, she decided to return near the school in order to be closer when time arrived. A little nearby cafe seemed a suitable venue, so she went inside and ordered a cup of coffee- rich with french syrup and just a dash of milk.

Coffee was a thing she’d become curious about, having not had anything like it in Britain. It was not quite like tea, which she still preferred, but it had a strangely comforting feeling for her.

She indulged in the elegance, in the anonymity of a European woman in Japan at a small cafe near a school. The Japanese were a skittish people, even when you knew them personally. Europeans made them nervous, and she was thoroughly anything but Japanese- even though she’d married a Japanese man.

How amusingly droll. She looked forward to seeing the true color of Sakura’s soul, of seeing if the darkness within her was suitable for her own ends.

The Tohsaka girl bored her, but Sakura? Everything about her screamed that this girl was -something worth using.- A girl abandoned and predated, nursing a deep blackness that rang out so true to her own malign soul, and- in utter irony- seeing light in a young man. The same young man, even if they were seperated by timeline and planar distance.

In that way, it was a kindness from the Witch to offer this time’s Shirou to her. She would never admit that to anyone else, but it served her just fine. It irritated the Tohsaka girl, gave the Shirou of this “world” a person to protect him, and allowed another like her to find salvation.

Truly, her family had become a bad influence on her. She looked at her watch, and she stood as she trashed her empty paper cup. She had a meeting with the young Miss Matou.

+x+x+x+

  
  


“Shirou.” He blinked, turning his gaze from the goings on of lunch in order to look upon Saber as she arrived with Mordred in tow. The father-son- (father-daughter? Ugh, that was confusing)- pair obviously ready for a meal if they were crossing into the sanctity of the Pyndraig home kitchen. “We’re home.”

“Out for another motorcycle ride again?” He asked, letting his gaze trail over the two in their motorcycle outfits before turning back unto today’s lunch of pan-fried chicken and stir-fried vegetables.

“Mhn.” It was so nice to see the two bonding, even if it was- well- a bit too late in most cases. Nonetheless, it was better than the alternative of the two being at each other’s throats. Mordred didn’t care about Artoria being her father, and Artoria- well- Artoria wasn’t dealing with HER Mordred, so it wasn’t important.

“When will lunch be ready, Papa?” Mordred asked, moving to the fridge and parsing through it while humming a tune.

“About five minutes. Get yourself a drink if you want, but I wouldn’t try to fit in a snack beforehand.”

He kept a side-eye on the girl to make sure she didn’t steal away with a chocolate bar or something else as she grabbed a soda from the cooler-case and then moved back into the dining room. He shook his head with amusement at his daughter’s antics before he felt a pair of arms wrap around his middle. A soft fondness filled his chest as he noted, gently, “Saber?”

“I missed you, Shirou.”

“I missed you too, Artoria. More than you can imagine.”

“I think I can. Especially after I heard what happened to you.”

The soft affection of the moment languished as he put the finishing touches on lunch and shifted an arm around to embrace her more fully as he turned off the heat on the dishes and began to plate them up alongside helpings of steamed rice. “Morgan is with Sakura, so she won’t be back until dinner at the earliest. Rin is our responsibility, so as soon as Archer comes around, we’ll deal with that.”

Saber nodded in return, helping him to carry the dishes to the dining room while Mordred seemed content to wait- at least until food appeared and she plastered a grin on her face. “Ah, hell yeah, karaage!” She hollered.

Both he and Artoria gave “their” child an amused look, settling down in their chairs and digging in with an “Itadakimasu.”

After dinner concluded, he was able to reopen the “business talk”. “Mordred, are you sure you’ll be ready to help me? I don’t particularly -need- you to, if you’d rather keep enjoying yourself-”

The firm look his daughter gave him showcased how serious she was. “Don’t even try that, Papa. The last time would have been a mess.”

He agreed, but it was his duty as her surrogate father to- well- try and dissuade her from going into the war regardless. “It shouldn’t be as bad. After all, this isn’t all out war, and if we’re lucky, Morgan has already taken Rider out of the equation. The only real pain will be Lancer and Gilgamesh, since Caster will be . . . dealt with.”

Saber’s curious look made him remember just how he’d have to keep that secret from her. Ugh, as much as he’d grown used to Morgan’s MO, sparing Artoria the details was going to get him in trouble.

His own vindictive feelings towards Caster made that a little easier, if he was honest.

“And Berserker?” Saber asked.

“If possible, we’ll try to convince Ilya to get along with her Shirou. If not, we’ll do what we did the first time- just a little better.”

Saber nodded, and he decided that was just fine.

  
  



	10. The Purple and the Red, PT4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sakura is corrupted. Let the War begin.

**Fate/Black Eden**

**The Witch and the Shadow**

  
  


It was a simple matter of appearing before the purple-haired girl, even a few words would get her head working. But it was better to interfere fully and directly now that there was something to be carefully gained from directing the girl’s hunger and loneliness.

A delightful, pleasant little reprieve from the normalcy of the Pendragon family’s lifestyle, if she was honest. There was only so much Morgan could do before her predilections would start to encourage her. For all that her husband was a hero, she was still a villainess.

It was a fun contrast within their marriage that kept things fresh and new, in her opinion.

Sakura lived on the edge of society, cast aside by her sister and longing only for the affection of the boy she loved. A prime target for the Witch’s machinations, hence why she’d made the easy choice to afflict her. As she stood in the path of the girl’s walk home to the Matou manor, Morgan offered a light smile and gestured into a storefront she’d set up as a small Workshop.

Allured, she felt the presence of the girl’s inner darkness as she followed within. “You’re-” Her voice was soft, unsure. Morgan couldn’t help but find herself smirking in amusement at her uncertainty- which soon would be abated if all went according to her whim. “The woman from my dreams.”

“I am.” Morgan noted as she settled into a plush chair and gestured across from her to another. “Sit, dear. We only have a short time together for the moment, so I’ll have to ask you to keep your questions short.” Sakura looked perplexed for a moment, her body following the direction and settling into the chair across from the Witch. As Morgan folded her hands in her lap and brought one leg up over the other, the blonde woman felt her eyes crinkle along with her smile.

“Can you- can you-” It was exactly the question she’d expected from the girl. Even the stuttering and hopeful look on her face could have been calculated, if Morgan had felt it necessary. The young and in love were the easiest to manipulate. Insist that you could help, and even the most cynical and wary would eventually fall. The prophetic dreams and doctored memories were merely to incline her to accept. “Can you really- free me?”

“I can help you to free yourself, sweet girl.” She felt her voice was dripping with honeyed malice, but that was simply the nature of her own being. Nothing she could affect, even though realistically she should have just killed the girl- but then they would lose an advantage that her family could not ignore. Her petty feelings of hungry jealousy were not worthy enough for that. “And then you can live your blessed life with the man you love, isn’t that grand?”

Though Sakura’s face did not change much in scope, the light that entered her eyes suddenly was a harsh difference from the blank, deathly look that had been in them only moments before. “How?”

Morgan le Faye’s smile grew. “I’m going to help you embrace the darkness within that will allow you to consume all that has caused agony to you, sweet child. And all you will need to do after that . . . is keep your beloved safe.”

+x+x+x+

Shirou sat atop the roof of the Pyndraig manor as evening turned into night, Saber standing at his side while he tapped his fingers against the insides of his knees. His gaze was drawn towards the Tohsaka home in the distance. As Summer arrived, he’d known that time was drawing closer and closer to the week that had begun the Holy Grail War. Nonetheless, vigilance was better than resting on one’s laurels- especially one as simply destroyed as a discernment of the timeline. His own version of vaunted Clairvoyance was only good for minutes into the future at a time ever since the days of the Lion King’s Britain, so he tried not to rely on it anymore than he simply had to. Besides, the peaceful quiet of the encroaching night was a pleasant chance to enjoy time with his Servant- his Artoria.

The only music of the moment was the sound of Mordred down below on the porch, strumming her guitar lazily while they waited for Morgan to return from her  _ manipulation _ of this history’s Matou, Sakura. His other self would be safer with Rider and Sakura around to take care of him- though how that might affect Rin he wasn’t sure.

If he’d ever thought Archer able to get past himself, he might have seen worth in convincing his old friend- and potential paramour- to be one of this self’s guardians as well, but . . .

Archer hated Emiya, Shirou. Why, he’d never learned, but it was a danger that needed to be nipped in the bud. If Rin lamented losing the War as a result, that was fine. It brought nothing but pain and misery to those it touched, even if none of them- save Sakura- knew it yet.

That would leave their only danger in the hands of the priest at the Church on the Hill. Caster would be dealt with all on her own, and Shirou privately enjoyed the thought of giving the woman the treatment he’d experienced at her hands. Was it a heroic thought? No, but Shirou comforted himself with the fact it was only paying due evil upon evil done.

“Is this okay, Shirou?” Saber’s voice drew him out of reverie, and his amber gaze turned unto her, noting the way her lips were thinned into a line. Working himself up unto his feet, he craned his neck this way and that to a satisfying pop.

“Letting Morgan control Sakura?” The affirmative sound that came from his friend and lover’s throat made him hum in turn. “Probably not. But, it’s better than what happened to her once upon a time because neither I nor Rin took the time to care for her. It’s all that I owe her for taking care of me, you know.”

Saber’s head drooped, and he understood. Sadly, the happiest ending was not always brought in at the hands of justice and righteousness, and they both knew that far deeply than most. Artoria’s own history was rife with things that would have went better if she’d been anything less than a paragon of virtue, and Shirou’s failings had always been on the coat-tails of his now long-dead dream and the  _ distortion _ before it had warped into the world of Shadows.

Sakura had suffered alone, a misery he couldn’t comprehend, after he’d left. He never found out what happened to her, since he’d lost contact with even Rin after he’d gone to Atlas Institute save for the times they came across one another as antagonists. All he’d known was that, a year or so after he’d left, Rin had lost that glimmer in her eyes.

Sakura must have died, or worse. He didn’t want to believe it, but part of him feared that Rin had been the one to do the dirty deed that destroyed herself in one fell swoop. He’d been too entrenched in his own pain and loneliness without Saber to see it at the time, but now . . .

Now it only made sense, knowing what he did. Sakura had loved him, and he’d left her abandoned, just the same as he’d done Rin.

All for the blonde woman once again at his side- and one he’d abandoned the world as a whole for. Morgan was worth it, and had been for a long time now. To say that Shirou Pendragon- no longer Emiya- had given everything up for the Witch was not wrong. If he could do even one small heroic act in giving Sakura the dream she’d comforted herself with?

It was his one saving grace in the dark night they would bring on the Holy Grail War.

Only what the hated ritual deserved, in his opinion.

+x+x+x+

Mordred found herself enjoying the stillness of the night, the strumming of her guitar to the chords of a British song she’d learned when it’d premiered forty years ago. A popular band that had made such a sad song. Covered countless times by plenty of others who had made it a heavier tune. “While my guitar, gently weeps~” She wasn’t the best singer, but she’d be damned if she wasn’t going to sing it.

The world was a fantastical, beautiful place to the former Princess of Britain. She had her father and mother, and now even her birth father around. It was the Knightslayer’s own pleasure to know such peace when the world around them roiled with a waiting battle. For that, she couldn’t wait. To share the battlefield with her father again, to feel the direction of the Black Dragon and know that what she was doing was -right- by pure virtue instead of her own instincts.

Somewhere out there, her mother was doing something -right- for another addition to the handful of times she’d done such. Even though her mother insisted on her own corrupt and evil existence, the blonde girl knew that her father had influenced her mother just as much as she had influenced him. The two had found balance and peace in one another, and Mordred could only luxuriate in such a lovely family, where she could just be a girl and know the affection she’d longed for so long ago.

It was a peace worth fighting for. An eternity with her parents and a world that moved oh so fast around them that there was always something new to -learn- and -do-.

Clarent and her bow were comfortably in her room, and ready to be wielded, and so the only thing remaining now was to wait. Her parents’ planning was over, the preparations complete. Most of the city’s leylines had been hijacked and backpacked by her mother’s Magecraft, and her father had thoroughly prepared the battlefields they would fight upon for the upcoming ugliness.

This would not be the battle for Britain so long ago, where she’d feared she would lose her beloved father, where she’d killed Gawain and Tristan, and her father had mortally wounded Lancelot and killed her birth father.

She wondered sometimes if Aethach had found the death she so longed for, or if she still wandered the world as a warrior husk. The nanny, as she’d called her, had been a pleasant bit of her life that she had missed for a time. But, it was her own prerogative to go hunting for a glorious death- it was something Mordred could respect as a woman and a fellow warrior.

**TWANG!**

“Aww, shit. Son of a bitch- fucking- oww- that hurt--!”

“Are you okay down there, Mordred?”   
  
“Y-yeah Papa, broke a string!”

+x+x+x+

As Morgan watched the girl’s hair fill with white and her eyes turn bloody red before the black and red coated her in a  **thing** that existed beyond the reality of this world, she indulged in something she hadn’t in awhile.

“Mn-hnhnhn-hahaha-

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!”

  
_ Let the war begin. _ Morgan Pendragon, the Witch of the Black Lake, gleefully thought to herself.


End file.
